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Monday, July 30, 2007

On the dawn of the day he was to retire from the Office of
Execution, Justicar Pedro Holdon opened the door of his mansion and found his
only son cradling the lifeless body of a female.

"I didn't," Janussaid, "I didn't kill
her."

Justicar Pedro Holdon reached for the gun under his robe. "Did
you rapeher?"

"I," Janussaid, "I didn't mean to. She," he
cocked his head to the right, "she and I were at the motel already. We
were already undressed. We were kissing, and then she got a call. And then
suddenly she had to leave." Janus was crying. "Father--"

Justicar Pedro Holdon checked if the gun was loaded. "What
was," he shook his head, "What is her name?"

"June. June Mabuti."

Justicar Pedro Holdon shot his son Janusbetween the eyes.He considered picking up the female corpse
splattered on his front steps, but decided against it. What was the point? He
had already avenged her rapeand murder. Justice was a job
for the Office of Peace. He closed the door of his mansion, returned the gun to
his robe's pocket and went to the telephone. After calling the police he went
back to his bedroom, checked if his wife was disturbed by the gunshot, found
that she wasn't, and went back to sleep.

When he awoke he found the sun shining through his windows and his
wife missing. With him in the room was another man, his partner for the last
six months of his career: Justicar Rainier de Belen. The man was smoking,
sitting at the foot of the bed. Pedro considered reaching for the gun under his
robe.

Rainier spoke: "The Office of Peace fools are downstairs. Candytold me to tell you to get up
and dress up."

Pedro rolled his eyes. "You'd think turning forty would give me
the right to start my day when I want it to start."

Rainier blew rings in his direction. "You're retiring today,
Justicar. Your life's about to begin. But first you have to end it."

"Good," Pedro said, taking off his robe, "good. I'll
get ready. You wait for me here."

Rainier nodded.

Pedro went to his comfort room, sat down on the recycling bowl,
cleansed his bowels, went to the shower, set the water to warm, showered, went
back to his room. Dressing up he addressed Rainier: "You know who's
speaking today?"

"You know that psychoanalyst from Malolos, one of the last who
trained in France?"

"The Bulacanian?"

"She's come back and she's spreading the news about the decay
of Europe." Rainier made more smoke rings. "Aren't you from
Bulacan?"

"Hagonoy. Spent three fourths of my life there." Pedro was
halfway with his pants when it hit him: the ceremony wasn't until three in the
afternoon. "The ceremony's not until three. Why is Candyhaving me dress up?"

"We're not going to the ceremony, we're going to a crime
scene."

"Good god." Pedro let go of his pants. "Surely you're
joking."

"No joke," Rainier said, "and don't call me
'Shirley'."

"A case? I'm handling another case? On the day of my
retirement?"

"Duty's duty, Justicar."

"I just killed my son a few hours ago!"

Rainier shrugged. "So? He was a rapist. The one we're after,
he's a rapist too."

Pedro rolled his eyes. "Will you put that thing out? Last I
looked cigarettes are illegal in Manila."

"Not until tomorrow, Justicar. Not until tomorrow."
Rainier grinned. "Then I'll go to Ilocos to smoke. Now finish dressing. I
want this finished quickly, I don't want to be late for the ceremony."

2. "Justicar Holdon! Justicar Holdon!"

Pedro turned to find a teenager in sando and shorts running towards
him.

She stopped just a few centimeters from his nose. Panting, she
reached into her pockets and produced a cellphone.
"Justicar Holdon, my name is Nerissa Decena. I was wondering if I could interview you for my blog?"

"About?"

"Capital punishment and--"

"Forget it. I have--"

"I'm People's Media," she said, reaching into her pockets.
She was practically shoving the ID up his nose. "I'm People's Media."

Pedro rolled his eyes. He turned to Rainier, who just shrugged.
"Very well, you're People's Media. Interview away." Janushad been People's Media. A
blogger, just like everybody else. Janus, his son. Janus, the rapist. What a
hypocrite! Pedro nodded to his partner, who went ahead to the crime scene. It
was the yellow house a corner away.

"First question: why did you murder your son?"

Pedro started. "In the first place," he said, "I
didn't murder my son. I killed a rapist, who just happened to be
my son."

"Don't you feel any kind of remorse. Or regret?"

"Good God, no. He was a rapist. I'm after a rapist right now. I'm a Justicar
of the Office of Execution. It is my duty not to make distinctions." Pedro
thought about patting Nerissa Decenaon the shoulder, and then
reminded himself that that was a violation of her private space. He contented
himself with what he thought to be a fatherly smile. "Is that all? You
know you shouldn't say first when you don't have a second."

Nerissa Decenasmirked. "Second
question. Don't you think it goes against the principles of our Social
Democracy, the murder--"

"The killing."

"The killing of rapists?"

Pedro sighed. He had never been good with fatherly smiles, or
fatherly anythings. "We live in the Philippines, madame, and here we kill confessed and convicted rapists,
torturers, slavers and child abusers. Four classes of people that are a blemish
in the face of humankind." He should've made Rainier stay. His partner was
good with spouting official doctrine. He was just good at killing criminals.

"We spare murderers, drug dealers, people convicted of plunder,
people who bomb schools, people who spread viruses... Doesn't everybody deserve
a second chance?"

"Everybody deserves a second chance. Except rapists. Why should
we give a rapist a second chance to rape?" This time Pedro couldn't controlhimself. He pat Nerissa Decenaon the shoulder. The blogger
moved away. "I'm sorry." Pedro sighed. "How old are you?"

"Thirteen. What's that got to do with anything?"

"We live in a just society, Nerissa Decena. You are young. When you become fourteen, you will understand."
Pedro turned and walked away.

"I have a third--"

"I don't care about your turd." Pedro kept on walking. He
thanked Godthe blogger didn't follow. A
few steps later he was in front of the yellow house. Rainier was there too,
leaning against yellow picket fences. Pedro gave his partner a raised eyebrow.

"Survivor's inside."

"Then why are you here?"

Rainier shrugged. "She wouldn't let me in."

"Why the hellnot?"

"She said she had nothing to tell me that wasn't in her
report."

"Then why did she request us to come here?"

"She said she wanted to make sure the Office of Execution was
on the case."

"Great. First, an anti-killer blogger, now a doubting citizen.
All we need is some bureaucrat telling us how to do our job."

"That reminds me, administration called--"

"Oh, shut the hellup." Pedro got gum from his pocket.
Something about Rainier always intensified his infantile need to have something
in his mouth. "How is the survivor?"

"Emotionally, angry. Just like all rapesurvivors."

"And physically?"

"I wouldn't know."

"And why not?"

"I couldn't get a good look of her."

"And why not?"

"She wouldn't open the door. We spoke through the
intercom."

Pedro bit his lips. He didn't want to curse. He knew the rules.
Never blame the survivor. Tolerate her ways of coping. Know the rapist, find
the rapist, kill the rapist. Leave the survivor to the Office of Peace. Leave
justice to the Office of Peace. His job was revenge. "What information
have you gathered about the woman in question?"

Rainier shrugged. "She's 30 years old. The crime took place a
decade ago."

Pedro let out seventeen expletives.

3. The ride back to station on the mobile was uneventful. Pedro
drove and chewed his gum. Rainier logged on to the Office of Execution database
via the Internetional and smoked while reading about the rapesurvivor who refused to let
them see her. Curiosity ate at Pedro, but on the other hand he just wanted to
retire. Killing rapists had been his life for a decade now, he liked it still.
But, he also wanted to try other things--like singing. He logged on to the
Internetional and searched for his favorite radio station. He turned the
volume up and hummed along.

"What is that song?"

"'Di Bale na Lang Kaya,' a classic from the 90s."

"Funny, it doesn't sound like something from ten years
ago."

"The 1990s,
Rainier. Good god, you know nothing about music!"

"I kill rapists, Justicar. I don't need to know anything
else." He chewed on the butt of his cigarette. "Strange lyrics. 'Bitin'?"

"It's about this man who wants to have sexwith a woman. She keeps on
promising that she will, but she never does."

"The cocktease stereotype. Funny taste in music,
Justicar."

"Oh, quit being so doctrinaire. It doesn't matter if the song
has biases. There're more important aspects in a song, like rhythm and beat.
Surely you can't find anything wrong with it?"

"No," Rainier said, shrugging, "I don't. And don't
call me 'Shir--'."

"You know, that joke wasn't funny when you first said it."

"There're more important aspects in a joke. Besides, based on
my observations, your knowledge of music is less than scholarly. As I recall,
you were the one who told me 'Ganyan Talaga ang Buhay' is about child
abuse."

Pedro didn't answer. He set the mobile on automatic driving and
looked out the windows. Manila was a mess of metal, skeletons jostling with
spirals. Spires and towers reaching for the sun. The giant buildings gleamed,
hurting his eyes, as if accusing him of something. He remembered his grandmother
telling him about how she was at the inauguration of the first bullet train,
how she rode on its maiden voyage, from Manila to Nueva Ecija in three minutes.
She participated in the FeministRevolution, Pedro's
grandmother. She was involved in munitions. A funny woman, his grandmother…

The sight of Candystanding in middle of the
parking lot, a basket in her arm, brought Pedro back to the reality. He resumed
controlof the mobile, he didn't
trust parking to machine control, and prepared for landing.

Candyopened the mobile's door.

Pedro got out and hugged her. He gestured to the basket. "Going
on a picnic?"

Candytapped the end of his nose.
"Supper. With you. I thought we could attend June's cremation. The
retirement ceremony isn't for three more hours anyway."

"June?"

"The girl. The woman."

"Ah," Pedro said, "yes. Of course, of course."
He raised his arms in confusion. "You brought a car?"

Candynodded, turned and started
walking away.

Pedro turned to Rainier, who shrugged for the eleventh time that
day. "You can take care of the case?"

"When have I never?"

"Thanks," Pedro said, and ran after Candy. When he caught up with her he said, "What's the matter
Candy?"

"I don't know." She started walking faster.

Pedro caught her hand and matched her speed. They were silent all
the way to the car. They were quiet on the way to the crematorium. They gave
their condolences to the Mabutis, shaking hands with June's parents. But they
didn't speak to each other during the cremation. When it was all over Candydrove, and Pedro realized she
was bringing him to their favorite park, Janus's favorite park when he was young, the park where Pedro and her had
met more than two decades ago, Rio de Janero Park, Hagonoy, Bulacan. Pedro
didn't say a word when the car landed. He just opened the door on his side and,
not even waiting for Candy, headed to their favorite spot: a swing on the top
of the park's seventh hill. He sat on the swing when he got there. Candy soon
arrived, carrying the basket, as well as a picnic blanket. She spread it out on
the ground and unpacked supper.

"I don't feel like eating," Pedro said from the swing.

"Come over here then," she said, "and have a drink of
water."

He went over to her and held her hands.

4. When they got back to the station the Bulacanian was already
delivering her speech. All the other retirees were seated in the first row of
the Office of Execution's multipurpose hall. Pedro, his head bowed low, and
Candysat down at the left end of
the fourth row.

"A century ago," the Bulacanian was saying, "who
would have thought that Philippineswould be what she is now? Not
I, for I wasn't alive then…"

Pedro wasn't listening. On the way back Candydrove, and he was able to
research bits about his last case, the only rapecase he didn't solve in his
capacity as Justicar. He wasn't so much angry as disappointed. Had he not shot
Janus, he felt, he wouldn't have been so busy today. He usually only
needed a few hours to find the rapist and kill him. This time he didn't even
know who rapist was. What a way to end a career! He just knew he was
going to be annoyed with himself all throughout his retirement. Well, maybe not
all throughout. But for a very long time... Maybe a week... As his
thoughts flew he focused his vision on the Bulacanian's podium.

"Justicar."

"Not now, Candy. Please?"

"I'm not Candy, Justicar Holdon."

Only when Pedro turned and saw the face of Nerissa Decenadid he realize that the
Bulacanian had stopped talking, and that all around him men and women had their
guns drawn. Retirees, husbands and wives, administrators and ushers. Only
Nerissa Decena, blogger, People's Media, thirteen year old anti-death penalty
activist, was unarmed. And behind her stood Rainier, Justicar, Pedro's partner.
And his gun was pointed at him.

Pedro wiped his face with his hand. "Good God."

"Did you rapeher, Pedro?"

He couldn't tell who asked the question. He shrugged. "I,"
he said, "didn't mean to. It was so long ago."

"Two decades and three months to the day." It was Rainier,
it was Rainier who was speaking.

"I," Pedro said, "I didn't kill her."

"You're dealing with the Office of Execution, Justicar, not the
Office of Peace."

"I'm," he looked around, fighting off the itch to reach
for his gun, "I'm sorry. Candy? I'm sorry I shot our son."

"We're all sorry, Justicar. But he was a rapist. And so are
you."

"Pedro," Pedro said, "please. Somebody call me
Pedro."

Justicar
Pedro Holdon never knew it, but Nerissa Decenashot him between the eyes.